Thursday, August 26, 2010
Tonight: A Reading from I GO TO THE RUINED PLACE
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Poem of the Week: Lauren K. Alleyne

18
Here is the night snarled with stars, here is the smile
full of teeth. Here is the bloom of desire, its scent swift
entering everything. Here are the arms, the legs, the heady
nectar of lips; here is nipple erupting against the thicketed
chest. Here is earlobe and thigh, the sharp seduction of nails.
Here is naked. Here, light by an exploring moon. Here is heat
making a new planet of your heart, riding your blood like victory.
Here is the old road you have longed and longed to travel,
18. It hisses your name. Its breath is smoke and salt; it stings
your throat like a scream. Here is the trembling gate, and yet
you want to turn back, no, run back, to before, which is still now,
or could be, if you turn in time and you do, but here are the knots
fists make of fingers, the silence one tongue can shackle to another,
the willful iron of belly and bone. Here is no, and no, and no
answer. Here, shove and bite splinter like so much kindling.
Here is his laughter sparking mad— jackal, wildebeest, wolf.
Here is fire and fire and fire. Skins of flame. Walls of flame.
There is no turning here, 18. Here you learn how to burn.
-Lauren K. Alleyne
Used by permission.
Lauren K. Alleyne is a native of Trinidad and Tobago. Her work has been awarded prizes such as the 2003 Atlantic Monthly Student Poetry Prize, the Robert Chasen Graduate Poetry Prize at Cornell, an International Publication Prize from The Atlanta Review, and honorable mention in the 2009 Reginald Shepherd Memorial Poetry Prize and the 2003 Gival Press Tri-Language Poetry Contest. She has been published in journals such as Black Arts Quarterly, The Caribbean Writer, The Belleview Literary Review, and Crab Orchard Review among others, as well as in the anthologies Growing Up Girl and Gathering Ground. She is co-editor of From the Heart of Brooklyn, and author of Dawn In The Kaatskills, a chapbook. She is currently an Assistant Professor of English and the Poet-in-Residence at the University of Dubuque.
Alleyne attended Split This Rock Poetry Festival: Poems of Provocation and Witness 2008 and 2010.
Please feel free to forward Split This Rock Poem-of-the-Week widely. We just ask you to include all of the information in this email, including this request. Thanks!
Split This Rock
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info@splitthisrock.org
202-787-5210
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Poem of the Week: Gregory Pardlo

Antebellum
Unfinished, the road turns off the fill
from the gulf coast, tracing the bay, to follow
the inland waterway. I lose it in the gritty
limbo of scrub pine, the once wealth
—infantile again, and lean—of lumber barons,
now vested in the state, now sanctuary for renegades
and shamans, for pot growers and moonshiners,
the upriver and clandestine industries that keep
mostly to themselves.
Misting over a lake-front terraced lawn, evening’s pink
tablet, japanning lawn and lake, magnolia leaf,
ember easing, dips and gives gilt to the veiled
nocturne vanishing in the view: the hint of maison
through the woods faint as features pressed on
an ancient coin. Swart arms of live oaks that hag
their bad backs surreptitiously, drip Spanish moss
like swamp things out of where a pelican taxis limp-
legged across the lake, pratfalls awkward as a drunk
- Gregory Pardlo
From Totem (APR 2007). Used by permission.
Gregory Pardlo’s first book, Totem, won the American Poetry Review/ Honickman Prize in 2007. His poems, reviews and translations have appeared or are forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Callaloo, Gulf Coast, Harvard Review, Ploughshares, Best American Poetry, on National Public Radio and elsewhere. A finalist for the Essence Magazine Literary Award in poetry, he is recipient of a New York Foundation for the Arts Fellowship and a translation grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. He has received other fellowships from the New York Times, the MacDowell Colony, the Lotos Club Foundation and Cave Canem. Pardlo is an associate editor of poetry for Callaloo, and an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at George Washington University and divides his time between Brooklyn and Washington, D.C.
Pardlo appeared on the panel Reclamation, Celebration, Renewal, and Resistance: Black Poets Writing on the Natural World at Split This Rock Poetry Festival: Poems of Provocation and Witness 2010.
Please feel free to forward Split This Rock Poem of the Week widely, we just ask you to include all the information in this post, including this request. Thanks!
Split This Rock
www.splitthisrock.org
info@splitthisrock.org
202-787-5210
Thursday, August 12, 2010
August Sunday Kind of Love
Sunday August 15, 2010
4-6pm
Featuring Simki Ghebremichael and Michael Luis Medrano
Busboys and Poets
14th & V St., NW
Washington, DC
Hosted by Katy Richey and Katherine Howell
Co-Sponsored by Busboys and Poets and Split This Rock
Open mic at each event!
Admission free, donations encouraged
For more info: www.BusboysandPoets.com
browning@splitthisrock.org
www.SplitThisRock.org
202-387-POET
Michael Luis Medrano, born and raised in Fresno, California, the heart of the San Joaquin Valley, is the author of Born in the Cavity of Sunsets (Bilingual Press, 2009). He holds an MFA in creative writing from the University of Minnesota, Twin Cities, and he has performed his work at Stanford University, The Loft Literary Arts Center in Minneapolis, and the University of Colorado, Boulder. He served as poetry editor for the literary journal Flies, Cockroaches, & Poets, is featured on the spoken word CD "The Central Chakrah Project" (Metamorfosis Productions), and has taught writing workshops in Fresno and Minneapolis. Once again based in Fresno, Medrano is teaching, hosting a literary radio show, and writing a novel and a second collection of poetry.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Poem of the Week: Chris August
OIL
America, don’t we love like oil?
Don’t our slippery arms
Pave the pores of those who need us?
Don’t we suffocate with our embrace?
Hasn’t our sheen of pink slips
And half-hearted hand outs
Sucked the air from blue collared lungs?
Aren’t cardboard boxes as porous
As dollar bills?
Don’t we infiltrate?
Isn’t our heart amorphous?
Aren’t we a slow build
And a tight grip?
Don’t countless dumb animals
Struggle their way from our grip?
Doesn’t Europe’s fur still glisten
From the crude of our aid?
Doesn’t the Middle East smell like us?
Aren’t we just like oil?
Is it any surprise when it leaks from our bowels
Into once pristine oceans
Don’t we muddy the waters?
Don’t we smear our babies’ asses
With petroleum jelly,
Don’t we air commercials for coal
On CNN?
Isn’t oil us?
Isn’t it slippery
But insistently vital,
Isn’t it the only black thing
We’re not afraid of?
Isn’t it us?
Isn’t it symbolic how it slips out,
How it once was life,
How we need it,
How it kills us?
Don’t we love symbolism?
A great white nation
With no control of dark things,
Dirty things, moving things
Isn’t it what we know?
Isn’t it what believe in?
Two press conferences too late,
A wellspring of good intentions
Strangling the seascape,
Isn’t it angry,
Isn’t it unstoppable,
Isn’t it us?
- Chris August
Used by permission.
Chris August is a writer and special educator from Baltimore, Maryland. He has been a part of the national poetry slam community since 2002. In that time, he has been ranked among the top ten performance poets in the world and has performed and competed across the country. He is the author of several self published collections of poetry.
August was a featured opening performer at ‘Howl’ in the City, a performance of Allen Ginsberg’s seminal poem “Howl” by Anne Waldman on July 23rd and 24th, 2010. Cosponsored by Split This Rock and Busboys and Poets.
Split This Rock
www.splitthisrock.org
info@splitthisrock.org
202-787-5210